BH3 #579
Start: Fulton Street and Lafayette Avenue, near statue (of Gen. Edward Fowler)
On-in: Casa de Pervert the Frog and Just Lilit
Hares: Pervert the Frog and Just Lilit
Who, you may ask, is Gen. Edward Fowler, and why the hell should we care? Let us turn to New York City Statues for some background on the bronze man: “This jaunty monument to the Civil War General Edward B. Fowler, a Manhattan-born son of Brooklyn who commanded New York’s famous (at the time) 14th regiment, the “Red-Legged Devils,” sits on a small triangle of park space” near the start of BH3 #579. The author adds that “Fowler’s statue has been, over the years, a routine target for vandals. Some time in the 1960s, it was put into storage to thwart future ne’er-do-wells. In 1976, Fowler’s statue was moved to its present location”. What relevance can this have for us? The following:
1. it is a jaunty monument. If hashers are anything, they are both jaunty and monumental. And if they are not, well, they better start.
2. his troops were called “Red-Legged Devils”. This is a simple case of mistaken identity; what observers at the time saw was in fact a Red Dress Run in progress, and confused calls of “On-on” with “bon-bon”. They assumed the hashers were hawking bon-bons, and, knowing chocolate to be the work of Satan, coined the nickname “Red-Legged Devils” for Fowler's men.
3. the statue has in the past been the target of vandals, yet no one has managed to make a single mark since the Bicentennial. We properly broke the streak with our chalked occult symbols. No doubt the city was outraged by the proliferation of arrows in the vicinity of this much-abused statue.
Now that the necessary history has been covered, we can talk about how the trail ran us toward the Manhattan Bridge, both over (for some) and under (for others) it, back to the East and South, into and out of Fort Greene Park, before wrapping us back to within spitting distance of Fowler's statue (note: please, don't spit on his statue. The thing has been through enough).
Handily for the hares, they lived in the on-in. No, they don't live in a bar, though that would be pretty handy for a future hash (note: please take up residence in a bar, someone, anyone…). We enjoyed their generosity; the open air of their backyard; their provisions of chips, cheese balls, Coronas and Blue Points, and later pizza; the company of their adorable pooch, Brooklyn Baron-Bargar Fowler (note: enough with fucking Fowler!); and gave out the following down-downs to those deserving (note: the following is reproduced, letter for letter, from the “Hash Notes Library” of Ms. Headlights SchmO'Brien. We thank her for her generous contribution, and hope, quote, deciding to live happily ever after, WANK, unquote, does not preclude continued service and dedication to drunken debauchery and hijinks of high hilarity).
Hares: Pervert the Frog and Just Lilit
Visitors: NONE!
Virgins: Sarah
Pizza Slut, Pete (drank by Rack N' Roll Her) and Adam: ran over the bridge
Hares: “true” trail went over the bridge, LIES!
Barnacle: misidentified a fence, also he cried like a girl on the bridge (MOST DEPRESSING DOWN DOWN EVER)
Nads on Film (drank by Trader Blows): meditating at the start
Ding: poked the meditating Nads on Film
Headlights: deciding to live happily ever after, WANK
After enjoying some quality time with my fellow jaunty devils, I picked myself up, and took myself home. Thanks for the laughs, Brooklyn Baron Cohen. Borat is still funny, no matter what they say.
On-out,
Cheeky Bastard